Confession
by Buffelyn
Summary: 2002 D.C.--A P.I. falls for a political heiress with the help of secret service agents, a lovable drug addict, and a mummy risen from the '70s who's intent on finding his dead lover...Much hilarity, mirth, and terror ensues. Fun fun! Finished:)
1. Taking out the Dry Cleaning

Inspired by the legions of modern-day Moulin Rouge fics currently making the rounds (the best of which are written by Karadarlin and She's a Star, go check them out:), I decided to try my hand at a modern-day Mummy story. 

This is not a reincarnation story or anything, it is simply transplanting the characters into a different time period, completely tearing apart the plot, and having a whole lot of fun in the mean time. 

Note: I've tried to be historically accurate, blah, blah, blah, but hard as I try I'm bound to make mistakes. Accept them, embrace them, don't nitpick over them. Merci:)

Basic plot: In 1972, President Howard Carnahan was murdered by his mistress and his personal assistant...thirty years later, his children stumble upon a twisted plot of love, lust and mysticism that could cost them their lives...

1: Taking out the Dry Cleaning

1972 A.D.:

Ivan sighed as he knocked firmly on the door. Four short little knocks, then, a moment later, another. He tugged at the uncomfortable collar of his insanely striped shirt one last time, trying to block out the vivid yellow and green that, to him at least, screamed "fashion victim!" Unfortunately for Ivan, Anastasia believed to the core of her soul that the shirt made him look exceptionally handsome. _Only for Annie_, Ivan thought as he waited for the door to open. 

Eventually it did, and Ivan suddenly thanked the fashion gods that bellbottoms were in style. They worked much better on her, especially paired with impossibly tall clogs and the glittery crushed velvet top that Ivan remembered had cost Carnahan a fortune. Ivan took care of the his credit card bills, so he should know. 

"Ivan," Anastasia purred. "Do come in. Howard will be delighted you've come."

With a respectful nod of his head, Ivan followed her into the brightly lit room. Once the door was safely shut, Anastasia practically pounced on him, covering his bald head with kisses. "Oh, Ivan, you couldn't have come soon enough. I swear Howard is out to drive me crazy!"

"What has he done this week, dear Annie?"

"He wants me to move to Los Angeles!" cried Anastasia, collapsing in Ivan's arms as if the horrible weight of the president's decision was too much to bear. "He's decided not to run again, and wants us to move to Los Angeles. He says he'll marry me as soon as the press calms down about Lana's death."

"You can't marry him."

Anastasia looked up at him with mournful eyes. "What else can I do? You know what he could do to us."

"We'll run."

"You know we can't." Anastasia drew out of his embrace and crossed her arms. "Don't be silly. He'd find us."

"Not if he doesn't want the press to catch wind of you."

Anastasia's eyes widened. "You'd...you'd blackmail him?"

"Why not?"

"You can't just blackmail the president of the United States!"

"Annie, look. I know more about him than he knows about himself. We could ruin him. He would give us whatever we wanted. We could start a family, and travel, you said you always wanted to go to Egypt." 

Anastasia drug a hand through her stylishly crimped tresses, spoiling the perfect image she strove so hard to keep up though the press was so far unaware of her existence. "I'm scared, Ivan."

"Come here," he gestured, drawing her closer. "We'll figure something out. _I'll_ figure something out." 

"I know," she whispered. As Ivan kissed her, slowly pulling the crushed velvet over her head, he wondered for the millionth time what he had done to deserve someone so beautiful, so kind, so wonderful...and what they had done to deserve the cruel reign of President Howard Carnahan. 

Suddenly they heard the telltale click of the lock and leapt away from each other, but it was too late. Carnahan entered, and confusion, then suspicion, clouded his features. "Anastasia," he said, "what are you two doing here?"

"Ivan was just dropping off the paperwork for the luncheon," Anastasia said casually. 

"I see," said Carnahan. "And that would be why he is holding your shirt?"

Ivan's eyes widened as he realized that their facade had a fatal flaw...it was probably something to do with the fact that Anastasia was standing there, careless as could be, in nothing but bellbottoms and bra. 

"Sending this to cleaners," Ivan choked out, attempting to repair the damage. "Is there anything else that needs to go out?"

"You fool!" Carnahan roared, rushing at Ivan and taking him by the throat. "I trusted you with her, I trusted you--"

A piercing crack split the air, and the crushed velvet shirt Ivan still held really was in dire need of a trip to the dry cleaners. 

Ivan looked down in shock at the president, writhing on the floor before him. A line of blood gurgled unpleasantly out the side of his mouth. He raised his head and pointed a shaky finger at Ivan. "Bastard," he gurgled. "I trusted you."

Without thinking, Ivan snatched the gun out of Anastasia's shaking fingers and held it to Carnahan's head. He pulled the trigger, the gunshot echoing throughout the apartment as Ivan threw the shirt over Carnahan's corpse. Ivan dared to look at Anastasia, who had sunk to the floor. "I killed the president," she whispered, voice muffled by the blood-spattered hand she held over her mouth. "I killed the president, I killed the president...

"It's all right, dear Anastasia," Ivan said, surprisingly calm. He wiped the gun clear of fingerprints with the edge of his horrid shirt, then pulled Anastasia to her feet. "_Now_ we run."

"Free," she replied, a smile quivering at the edges of her mouth. "Together."

Ivan had no time to respond, for they were no longer alone. A stream of Secret Servicemen poured into the front room, surrounding the corpse. No one made a move toward Ivan and Anastasia, they were simply too shocked to take in more than the fact that the president had just been murdered right under their noses. The lovers' path to the door, however, was blocked. Ivan felt Anastasia slip something into the back pocket of his bellbottoms. She whispered, "You will save me, my Ivan." 

Then she spoke to the men, louder. "I did it," she said. "I killed him."

Anastasia raised the barrel of the gun to her temple and squeezed the trigger. Luckily, Ivan averted his eyes just in time. 

The first few hours after Carnahan's murder, Ivan lived in a state of numb shock. No one could share in his grief. His lover was dead by her own hand, but nobody was interested in that first part. They cared only about the fact that the president of their country had been assassinated by his mistress in a senseless tragedy. 

Ivan was the only one who realized that, while certainly tragic, it was not entirely without sense. 

The police let him go after a few hours of intense questioning, conceding that Anastasia's confession made Ivan nothing more than a person of interest. He had only just remembered to retrieve the object from his pocket before they confiscated his now bloody bellbottoms for evidence. After carefully examining it, he discovered that it appeared to be a safety-deposit key from the local bank. He was there before it opened the next morning, impatiently pounding on the doors to be let in when his watch showed precisely eight o'clock and they hadn't yet opened. He sweet-talked his way past a shy secretary in order to get to the box, making up a story about poor Anastasia Madrun, his little niece, who desperately needed the paperwork in the box in order to obtain a life-saving kidney transplant. 

She finally left him alone in a private viewing room, after making it clear that no item from the box could be physically removed from the bank. He opened the large box tentatively, lifting the lid to lay eyes upon a simple linen cloth. Ivan let out a breath, willing himself to calm down. He carefully stripped off the linen and what he saw took his breath away once more. 

The ornately carved tome looked to be made out of a heavy material, strong enough to last many lifetimes. It was still polished and shiny, though Ivan judged it to be thousands of years old. His eyes swept over the hieroglyphics, suddenly very thankful that his mother had insisted he learn multiple languages, even the dead ones. He lifted the book reverently out of the box, delicately caressing the words that would make his life whole again. Digging further, Ivan discovered the key, even more intricately carved than the book itself, nestled in a velvet box. He slipped the key into the pocket of his plaid jacket (another Anastasia purchase) and maneuvered the bulky book into his backpack. 

Perfectly naturally, he waltzed out of the room and straight into the secretary. "I need to check the box," she said, as though she'd realized the error of her ways. 

"I'm sorry," Ivan said, putting on his most charming grin. "But has anyone ever told you that you look like Princess Anne?"

Ten minutes later, after assuring the secretary that he would pick her up that night at seven, Ivan fled the bank in Anastasia's VW Bug. He pulled to a stop a few blocks from the bank after carefully losing the Secret Service vehicle that had taken to trailing him. With shaky hands, he unlocked the key and opened the book, just staring for a moment in awe, before he started to scan the pages. It took him a little over a half hour, but he finally found the passage. _Only for Annie_, he thought as he started up the engine and peeled out in the street. 

Anastasia would live. Whether the same would be true for Ivan remained to be seen. 

For some reason, Ivan felt worse about knocking out the medical assistant than he had about killing the president. In the morning, however, all the man was likely to feel was a splitting headache and confusion over where one of the corpses had gone to. 

Ivan steeled himself for the worst before wrenching open the door that held his late lover. He slowly drew the table out from the cold, relieved beyond belief when her beautiful head rolled out of the drawer. The bullet had gone in and out with little damage. Ivan tenderly drew a hand over Anastasia's eyes, imagining her alive, breathing, kissing him. She _would_ live. 

He began the incantation, trying to keep his voice from breaking and ruining the rhythm of the spell. The unfamiliar words came easier to his tongue as he continued, the hieroglyphics bleeding together as the language flooded his brain. A howling blackish shape, thrashing and struggling in the cold air, appeared seemingly out of nowhere and settled itself into Anastasia's body. Ivan stifled a yelp when Anastasia's eyes suddenly opened wide, her hands shaking uncontrollably in the air, pleading to Ivan for help. 

He raised the knife he had taken out of one of the cabinets, prepared to complete the ritual, when suddenly he felt hands grab him from behind, prying the knife from his fingers. Anastasia gave one last shudder and the tortured shadow of her very soul was ripped from her body once again, hovering over them for but a moment before escaping out the doorway and into the hall. Ivan heard the panicked scream of another intern in the hall as a dozen Secret Servicemen tackled him to the floor, pinning his arms behind his back. Closing his eyes, he willed death to take him so he could be with his love. 

Unfortunately for Ivan, death was not all of the bargain that he was offered that night. He drifted in and out of terrified unconsciousness as the men chanted all around him. He did not know who they were, but there seemed to be hundreds, as their faces blended together behind the grotesque masks that covered their faces. When they cut out his tongue, he was barely aware of the sensation, only discerning of the fact that his screams became more strangled in his empty mouth. 

They wrapped his body in linen bandages, reminding Ivan's deranged mind of those old mummy movies he and Annie had rented so long ago. She had shrieked in horrified delight the entire time, clutching at Ivan's sleeve as the mummy followed the heroes slowly across the screen. Movies like that had never scared Ivan. 

Living through the experience, Ivan was thinking, was proving no different than watching old horror movies on a tiny television. They were lowering him into a coffin now, pressing his head down as he struggled. He felt he ought to be struggling, to put on a show, though he felt nothing. 

Not even the strange little bugs, pouring over his body and eating quickly through the linen wrapping, affected his senses much. Through his covered eyes Ivan perceived the total blackness as they sealed him inside with his death. He waited for the blackness to take him completely, waited for death...

It never came. Not completely. 

~*~*~*~

Well, tell me if that sucked completely or if I should continue. Updates will be farther between (Cost of a Glance is still my priority, don't worry:), but chapters will probably be fairly long. This is a bit of an experiment, as I'm not going to have any idea where I'm going after I've posted each chapter. Sounds like fun, non?;) Yes, I'm nuts:)


	2. If I Should FallFall for You

Thanks everyone. I know I'm sure having a strange amount of fun writing this, so I'll probably finish it through to the end:) That is, if y'all want me to:)

Title belongs to Black Lab (Spider-Man soundtrack, woo hoo!)

Loren made me promise to give him credit for being my human thesaurus on this chapter. Although I was the one who came up with the word, he did help:)

And now, to deviate completely from the plot of TM...:)

2: If I Should Fall...Fall for You

2002 A.D.:

Sunlight beat mercilessly down upon Evelyn Carnahan's head as she made her down the rickety stepladder to the safe ground. The flight had been interesting, to say the least, and Evelyn would have been perfectly happy to stay on the ground for the rest of her life if it meant she never had to board that plane again. She was never chartering a private flight again. From here on out it was all Concorde supersonic jets with no connecting flights whatsoever. She set her luggage down on the ground and looked around the deserted airport for Jonathan. She was late; he should have been here already. 

Evelyn began to get slightly nervous as Captain Havlock gave her a cheery wave and took to the skies once more. As far as she could see, there was not a single soul inhabiting the tiny airport. The bloody pilot seemed to have dropped her off in the middle of nowhere. This was definitely _not_ the D.C. she remembered. She trudged over to a nearby payphone, dragging her suitcases, and searched desperately through her pockets for some form of change. Jonathan had sent her a few coins and bills to get her through 'til she could exchange her pounds for dollars. She inserted a random amount in the slot, waited for the dial tone...

And nothing. Nothing was happening. Evelyn slammed the dead phone into the cradle. This didn't seem to take enough of an edge off her rage, so she decided to kick the pay phone stand as well. It was then, hopping away on one foot in extreme pain, that she heard his voice. 

"I didn't think English ladies used language like that."

Evelyn turned to find a tall, scruffy-looking stranger leaning against the driver's side door of his run-down jeep, staring at her with amusement. His messy brown hair, pulled back into a pony tail, complemented the utter chaos that made up his outfit. For his part, he was quite amused to see a gorgeous woman in an impeccable tan suit taking out her frustrations on an innocent phone booth. 

"Oh?" she replied, and that was all she could think of to say, for upon slightly closer inspection she found that the stranger had quite beautiful sapphire-colored eyes. 

He waited a moment for her to continue. "Is that all? 'Oh?'"

"Um...no."

"Articulate, aren't we?"

"Are you going to insult me or are you going to help me carry my luggage?"

"Where would I be carrying it?"

"Your car, of course."

"Moving a bit fast, aren't we, lady?"

"Oh, for heaven's sake, I just need a ride. I've been abandoned me in the middle of nowhere and the phone doesn't work. I'll pay you."

The man sighed. "I think I'm going to regret this."

Evelyn put on her most bright smile. "Of course you won't. Unless you try anything, and then, I must warn you, I've got a can of mace and a mean right hook." 

He put up his hands in a gesture of mock surrender. "Likewise, lady."

With Evelyn's luggage safely settled in the back, the man removed a ring of keys from his pocket and started the car. "Rick O'Connell," he offered. "Put your seatbelt on, these roads aren't great."

"Evelyn. Pleased to meet you."

"Just Evelyn?"

"Yes, just Evelyn." 

"If you say so. What brings to you to D.C.?"

"Oh, thank God. I was beginning to think the bloody pilot had made a wrong turn and we'd ended up in Africa or something. Is it always this hot in Washington?"

"Heat wave. Are you always this evasive when people ask you simple questions?"

"My father was a politician, it's hereditary."

"Ah. I see. So are you going to tell me where you're going?"

"That's a nice tattoo, where'd you get it?"

"You'll have to be a bit more specific."

"The one on your wrist. Is that Egyptian?"

O'Connell quickly shrugged his jacket over the wrist in question and changed the subject. "Are you going to let me know where I'm taking you or are we just going to drive around in circles?"

She sighed. If she was to get anywhere, she'd have to tell him. "Well, Jonathan was supposed to pick me up but--"

"Jonathan?" O'Connell asked, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically from where Evelyn was sitting. "Your, boyfriend, husband...?"

"Brother, actually." 

"Just clearing things up," he said, and smiled the most wonderful smile Evelyn had ever seen. "Go on."

"Hmm? Oh. Right. Uh...the White House?"

"Was that a question?"

"No."

"So why are you going to the White House?"

"Um...I have...connections there."

"Right. Your politician father."

"In a manner of speaking."

"Well, that'll take us about two hours. Your pilot dropped you in the middle of nowhere, and with traffic..."

"I've got time. I don't meet with the president until later."

O'Connell raised his eyebrows. "You're meeting with the president?"

"Of course. Him and my father...they knew each other."

"I see," he said, with just the right amount of skepticism that Evelyn rose to the bait.

"You don't believe me."

"Sure I believe you."

"No, you don't."

"Yes, I do. You're meeting with the president, what's not to believe?"

Evelyn opened her mouth again, but suddenly thought better of it and said something else. "Fine. I don't care."

"What aren't you telling me?"

"I don't have to tell you anything."

"Fine." 

O'Connell concentrated on the increasingly heavy traffic for a moment, watching her out of the corner of his eye as she sunk into the seat. She looked as though she were trying to get as far away from him as possible. A stray curl or two had escaped from her perfect bun, making her look even more frazzled, as well as damn cute. He probably should have kept his mouth shut. Well, at this point there was no harm in escalating the conflict further. She hated him already, anyway.

"So you were born in America, right? What's with the accent? Did you move to England after your father was murdered?"

Evelyn was so shocked she couldn't answer for a few moments, and even when she had calmed down a bit all she could form was gibberish. "What--but--what are you..."

"You're Evelyn Carnahan, right? Daughter of a politician, sister to Jonathan...it added up. I remember my history lessons."

"Well--you--but--how?"

"I'm a private investigator, I pick up on these things. Wait, I shouldn't have said that."

"You're a what?"

O'Connell was given no chance to reply (and indeed, was grateful for the interruption) as the car suddenly swerved violently to the right as he veered into a side street. He gripped the steering wheel with white-knuckled fingers, trying to regain control of the car. "What the hell are you doing?" Evelyn screeched, clutching at the door handle to keep from flying through the windshield. 

Unfortunately, she'd been too distracted by those damn blue eyes to heed O'Connell's advice on the seat belt. 

So of course, when the door swung open, it was only logical that she would tumble right out of the car. 

O'Connell resisted the urge to slam on the breaks, tapping them lightly as he threw worried glances back down the alley where Evelyn had landed. After an agonizing wait, the car finally slowed to such a speed that allowed him to throw off his own seatbelt and leap out of the car himself. He barely noted the blown-out rear tire as he rushed by. 

Evelyn was sitting up, at least, that was a good sign, although her hair had fallen completely out of its neat bun and her suit would never be wearable again. 

"Evelyn! Are you all right?"

"Yes, thank you," she mumbled. He helped her up after a cursory inspection for major injuries. She seemed a little unsteady, so he held onto her as she regained her balance. "What the hell were you doing back there?" she asked. 

"A tire blew out."

"Lovely. You can let go of me now."

"Oh. Right. You scared me."

"What do you care if I die?" Oops. She hadn't meant to say that. _What is he supposed to say? 'I love you, Evelyn! I would have died too!' Stop thinking such things! It's not like he likes you or anything. Besides, I could never date a man with long hair._

He still hadn't answered her question. After a pause, he took her hand, kissed it, and said, "Don't." 

Evelyn was about to respond (although it probably would have been gibberish) when O'Connell's eyes suddenly widened and she found herself pushed to the ground again. "What the--" she started, but was cut short by the look on his face. 

The blood slowly spread across the whiteness of his t-shirt as they stared in disbelief at the bullet wound. He tossed her the keys and growled, "Get back to the car."

~*~*~*~

I have a basic plot, but this is mostly being written blindly...I'm more than open to any suggestions you want to toss out:)


	3. Movies Make Psychos More Creative

Eeeps! I forgot the disclaimer. Just in case you were wondering, I don't own these characters:)

Merci pour le reviews!!!:):):)

Whit, Craklyn, I would never kill off Rick in chapter two...maybe in four or five...no, no, no, just kidding!

Dylan, you are such a sweetie! Everyone should click into her profile and read her stuff, it's fab!:)

Note: I'm sort of blending the two movies with the addition of Meela and Izzy, because I felt like it, okay!?!?

Also, I've never been to the White House, please forgive whatever technical errors I may have made. 

Title belongs to Wes Craven.

3: "Movies Make Psychos More Creative"

Evelyn stood rooted to the spot, unable to move her legs no matter how much she wanted to follow his instructions and flee back to the car. That was just it...she didn't want to run.

"I'm not going to leave you!"

"Go!" O'Connell shouted, using one last bit of strength to shove her in the general direction of the jeep. "You think I'm the one they're shooting at?"

"I don't care!" 

Evelyn felt the sickening sound of another bullet whizzing past her ear before another noise filled her senses. Cars, long, big, black cars, zooming through the alley straight at them. The lead one screeched to a halt in front of the pair and the door swung open. A man in a suit leapt out, hissed, "Get in!" and shoved them both into the car. He climbed in after them, gave the signal to the driver, and the car lurched forward, speedily passing the jeep, exiting the alley, and racing pell-mell through the streets of D.C.

"O'Connell," Evelyn cried, "are you all right?"

"I've just been shot, what do you think?"

"Quit acting like a baby, O'Connell," said another man from across the limo. "It's just a scratch."

"Issac!" Evelyn cried. "What are you doing here? Uh, I mean, hello Mr. President. Nice to see you."

Chuckling, he hugged Evelyn across the seat. His dark hair had begun to gray around the temples, the only indication amid his enthusiastic countenance that President Issac Parkes was finally growing older. "Hello, Evy. When was the last time I saw you? Five, six years ago?"

"At least! I'm sorry I couldn't come to the inauguration, the Museum wouldn't let me take off work--"

"Excuse me, people," O'Connell interrupted, "but there's the little matter of my bullet wound to think about!"

The agent who had pulled them into the car produced a medical kit from nowhere. "You need to get to the hospital, but this will do for now."

"Bey, if you think I'm going to let you--"

"Go and ahead and bleed to death if you want to, O'Connell," Izzy interrupted. "One good turn deserves another, eh?"

Rick rolled his eyes. "Oh for God's sake, Izzy, would you let that go? It was three years ago!"

"That's Mr. President to you, O'Connell. Some nerve you have showing your face around here."

"Jesus, you make one little mistake!"

"I got shot in the ass, O'Connell, you call that a little mistake?!"

"What are you two going on about?" Evelyn asked. "You know Isaac, O'Connell?"

"Sure I do," Rick said, grimacing as he lifted his shirt so Agent Bey could examine his wound. "Used to work for him."

"You were in the secret service?"

"He sure was," said Izzy, "'til I fired him for getting me shot!"

"It wasn't my fault!"

Bey snorted, and muttered something under his breath that only O'Connell caught. "Goddamn it, Bey, would you just--"

"Would you two stop that?" Izzy asked. "We have the matter of this assassination attempt to take care of..."

"Oh, please, it wasn't--"

"No, no, no, Evy, I am not going to let you talk your way out of this one. I'm assigning Agent Bey to stay with you at all times, I'm not going to take any chances."

"I don't need a secret service agent following me around! Besides, I've got O'Connell. He can protect me."

The president grimaced. "Your bodyguard seems to be incapacitated at the moment."

O'Connell wisely chose not to reply to that, instead glowering across the seat at the president as Bey taped gauze over the bullet wound. "Really, O'Connell," Bey said, "it just caught you on the side. Won't even scar if you take care of it."

"How did you know we were here?" Evy asked.

Bey answered. "Well, when Jonathan showed up without you, we sent out a bulletin across the area to see if we could find you. When the call came over my radio we were in the area, and the president, against my strongest advice, insisted on coming and getting you ourselves."

"Thank you, Agent Bey."

He sighed. "No problem. I swear, you and your brother are going to be the death of me."

Meela shook her head in exasperation. She was ending this relationship, and she was ending it _now_. Her idea of a fun date did _not_ involve sitting in a tiny gray-washed government issue waiting room for four hours with strict instructions not to go _anywhere_. And she really had to pee, besides.

"Jonathan," she said sweetly, shaking him out of a slumber induced by the dredges of a drug binge. "Jonathan, wake up."

"Wha...what, Meela? Has he come back yet?"

"No. How much longer do you think your friend will be?"

Jonathan blinked, attempting to focus on the woman before him. "Uh...Well, he said he had to take the president somewhere, and then...he...disappeared."

"Yes," she said patiently, fighting the urge to smack him. "And that was four hours ago."

"Was it? Time passes so quickly these days..."

"Jonathan, we've been locked in a little room for four hours with no bathroom, no food and no contact with the outside world! I want out!"

As if the gods had heard Meela's plea, at that moment the door swung open, revealing Agent Bey. "Jonathan," he said, "I hope I have not kept you waiting too long."

"Course not, Ardeth," Jonathan replied cheerily, earning a nasty look from Meela, which he didn't notice. "Where've you been?"

"We just picked up your sister."

"Ah, Evy's in town?"

Bey also fought the urge to smack Jonathan upside the head. "Yes. You were supposed to pick her up."

"Oh." Jonathan scratched his head. "Yeah, I guess I was."

"I need to discuss something with you, Jonathan. Miss...uh..."

"Vasquez. Meela Vasquez."

"Right. I need to talk to Jonathan alone, so if you'd--"

"I really need to use the bathroom, is there..."

"Right next door, to the left."

"Thanks." She made for the door, but not before leaning in close to Bey's ear and whispering, "You have my full permission to beat Jonathan up."

"Thank you ma'am," said Bey, allowing a slight smile to break through his stern expression. "If I could, I would."

Meela slipped past him and made a beeline for the restroom. To think, it had been right next door all that time...she was going to kill Jonathan, she was absolutely going to kill him. Political connections be damned, that man was useless. 

A few minutes later Meela stood at the counter washing her hands. She was about to reach for a paper towel when she caught her reflection in the mirror...no...not her reflection, it was...

She tried to scream but a cold wind wrapped around her throat, preventing any noise other than a strangled yelp. There was nothing behind her, she was alone in the bathroom, but there were two reflections in the mirror, and the one that was not her seemed strangely familiar.

He wore a plaid jacket (which he actually pulled off quite nicely, Meela thought) and ridiculous platform tennis shoes that looked like they'd come mint-condition out of the seventies. His head was bald, giving him an old-fashioned handsomeness that almost overcame the pure evil that distorted his face...almost. He spoke, and chills shivered up and down Meela like little mice nibbling on her spine...

"Annie...it has taken me thirty years, but I have finally found you again. You must set me free Annie, you must find me..."

With that, the reflection of nothing faded, and Meela was finally able to scream. 

~*~*~*~

Come on...review...pretty please?:)


	4. I'm Not as Drunk as Thinkle Peep I Am

Merci beaucoup to Dylan, Katie, Seletha, Craklyn, Linser (no, he just appeared by chance, it had nothing to do with bodily functions:), enckbs, PZB (us nuts got to stick together, right?:) i wouldn't resort to violence to get reviews...heh heh heh...:), Solaris (lots of Ardeth is coming in chapter 5, along with more Jonathan and some quality Rick/Evy time :) Thanks for putting this on your fave list, I'll try to keep it up!:), and Mahaja (oopsie. I did mean to have Velasquez be her last name, following the Izzy Parkes tradition (Izzy Buttons just didn't sound presidential:), but for some reason Vasquez ended up in the copy instead).

Title is from "Sliding Doors," a must-see for Jonathan fans. 'Cheer up. You know what the Monty Python boys say.'...'Oh, I don't know. Always look on the bright side of life?'...'Nope. No one expects the Spanish Inquisition!' How many times have I repeated that phrase throughout my author's notes? Probably too many. 

I don't know what the White House looks like inside save my "West Wing" know-how, so I just made it up. But there has to be a bar somewhere in the White House, wouldn't you think? :)

4: "I'm not as drunk as thinkle peep I am."

He appeared nervous, twisting the little cap that all the tour guides wore in his sweaty hands, shuffling from one foot to the other across the square of blue-gray carpet. The three men watched him from across the lobby, debating the wisdom of trusting him. 

"What if he's lying?" one of the men said. 

"We've been over this, Daniels. We'll never know if we don't try."

"Yeah, what's the harm?"

"The harm? Burns, you idiot, the harm is that we could get thrown in prison for this!"

"We'll cover our tracks, don't worry."

"You're one to talk, Henderson."

The man in question chose that moment to walk over and interrupt the conversation. "Uh, excuse me, sirs, I am Beni Gabor. Are you looking for me?"

"Yes, Mr. Gabor," said Henderson. "We've decided to take you up on your offer."

"Excellent, excellent," Beni said, his mouth twisting into a little grin. "If you'll just follow me..."

The three men walked slightly behind Beni as he led them in increasingly complicated circles through the hallways. They saw the decor change from plush blues and purples dotted with geometric patterns and meant for the public eye to stark gray and white corridors of florescent lighted sameness within a few meters. 

Beni stopped abruptly at a door marked only with the words _Caution: Radioactive Material_. "In here, gentlemen."

"Uh," Daniels pointed out eloquently, "I'm not sure this is the best idea."

"Yeah," Henderson said, "What's that sign mean?" 

"Oh, that," Beni chuckled. "It's just to keep people out, don't worry about it. He's waiting for you in there."

"Well boys," said Burns, "let's do this."

Beni unlocked the door with a special magnetic key card, and gestured for the three men to go inside. 

"Why don't you go in first?" Daniels asked. 

"I have to lock it, sir. I'll be right behind you."

Daniels still didn't look convinced but the other two stepped readily into the room and he was forced to follow. He moved timidly through the doorway and into the darkness. "Is there a light switch or--"

Beni didn't hear the end of the question, as the door that he was busy slamming shut behind them was made of very, very thick steel.

Evelyn needed a drink. This was somewhat surprising because she, as a general rule, did not drink, but she figured if there was ever a time to start, it was now. She'd been terrorized in an airplane, abandoned at an airport, fallen in love with a man she didn't even know, tumbled out of a moving vehicle, and been shot at. It was that middle one which was giving her the most trouble, but she was trying not to think about it. 

Somewhere from the dredges of her memory from previous visits over the years Evelyn recalled that there was a bar somewhere in the White House's cavernous basement. She remembered walking past it with Izzy once or twice when she'd been here last, and was sure it was just around this corner...or that one...or....

It was quite by chance that she stumbled upon the little bar, tucked away in a corner. What actually drew her there was the faint sound of laughter floating out into the hallway from a slightly ajar door. Evelyn poked her head in the room, quite surprised to see a woman sitting at the bar, quite clearly already drunk, giggling to herself about something or another. 

Evelyn cleared her throat and the woman whipped around on the barstool, nearly losing her balance. Recovering, she raised her glass in Evelyn's general direction, and said, "You know what? Screw men."

"Um...do I know you?"

Meela began to giggle again. "Probably. Strange bald men in mirrors seem to know me, so why not you, too?"

"You don't work here, do you?"

"Nope. My dumb-ass boyfriend dragged me here and then I got lost on the way back from the bathroom. Then, voila! Alcohol!"

"How did you know there was a bar down here?"

Meela furrowed her brow, staring deep into the shot glass as if to divine the mysteries of the universe from its depths. "I don't know. I just knew."

Evelyn sighed and took a bar stool. "Pour me some, would you?"

"Sure thing. What's wrong with you?"

"No, you first, you've got a head start on me anyway."

"All righty. Hmm. I guess it all started when I started to start having these visions."

"Visions? What sort of visions?"

"Of the '70s." Meela shuddered. "Ugh."

"Scary."

"Yeah. All I remember is bellbottoms and plaid, and this really cute guy, and a gun."

"A gun?"

"I think I killed myself. I mean, in the vision, I mean. Obviously I didn't kill myself, I mean, I'm sitting right here."

"Perhaps you're a ghost." Evelyn hiccupped. "Oh my."

"Would you like some more?"

"Sure."

"So what's your problem, anyway?"

"I don't know. I'm confused."

"Are you having visions of bald men in mirrors, too?"

"No. No visions. And O'Connell's not bald. He actually has long hair. And I hate long hair on guys."

"Then whad is the problem? Forget the bastard."

"He saved my life. I can't forget him."

"Hmm. Tough one. Is he cute?"

"Absolutely." Evelyn put her head in her hands. "Oh God. I shouldn't have drunk anything."

"Uh, Evelyn?"

The women's heads whipped toward the door (resulting in quite a headache for both of them) to behold O'Connell standing there looking slightly confused. "O'Connell!" said Evelyn. "What are you doing here? Why aren't you in the hospital?"

"They fixed me up, sent me home. I thought I'd check on you, I snuck past Bey."

"Bey," Meela snorted. "He left me and Jonathan alone for four hours! Four hours!"

"Jonathan Carnahan?" Evelyn asked.

"Yes, that asshole."

"Wait a minute, are you Meela?"

"Yes, I think so."

"I'm Evelyn, Jonathan's sister!"

"Oh! Evy! I've heard so much about you!"

"Excuse me," O'Connell interrupted. "Am I missing something here?"

"This is Meela, my brother's girlfriend. I've been dying to meet you."

"A toast!" Meela cried. "A toast to...something."

Before she could refresh Evelyn's glass, however, O'Connell had swept the liquor bottle out of Meela's hand. "As much as I enjoy stealing alcohol from the government, I really don't think Evelyn should drink any more."

"How dare you speak for me, O'Connell," said Evelyn, getting off the bar stool. "I don't...hey. There's something different about you. What did you do?"

Before he could answer, Evelyn keeled over. O'Connell barely managed to catch her before she hit the floor. Meela started giggling again. "I think she had too much to drink," she said.

"Yeah, now would you be so kind as to help me with her?" 

"Sorry, I have to find a bald man wearing '70s clothes and raise him from the dead. But otherwise, I would."

"Uh...all right, then. Good luck with that."

"No problem." Meela grabbed the bottle and waltzed out of the bar. She turned down a few random hallways, then, exhausted, decided to lean against the wall for just a bit to catch her breath.

Unfortunately, Meela hadn't counted on that particular wall to be a trap door. 

Or maybe she had. 

~*~*~*~

I'm actually finding it really fun to write Meela. *shrugs* She's an interesting character even when she's not being evil. 

Might you by chance be so kind as to review? : )


	5. Spontaneous Combustion

I love everyone :) Every time I read your reviews I get so inspired! I never expected this to take off so well, it was just a spur-of-the-moment idea. Thank you for whatever ideas you may have (like MBooker's comment about putting Jonathan in rehab...can I use that?:) They really stir up my imagination, so keep 'em comin'!

PZB, I think I could sit down and recite that whole movie if you asked me to. Probably my fave quote, though, is Lydia's "We're women. We don't have to say what we want but we reserve the right to get pissed off if we don't get it. That's what makes us so fascinating. And not a little bit scary!" :) Right on, sister. 

I'm pretty sure Deana will like this chapter ;) Let me know ;)

5: Spontaneous Combustion

This was ridiculous. He was responsible for the life of the President of the United States, for goodness sake. He should have been able to keep track of four people. Now three of them were missing, and one of them was tripped up on cocaine. His back was turned for just a second, he swore, and when he turned back Jonathan had been...well, Jonathan had been someplace else. "Next time we let you in the White House you're getting strip searched," Bey muttered. 

"You say something?..."

"No. Now would you please stop fidgeting and answer the damn question?"

"What question was that?"

"Where," Bey said slowly, "did, your, girl, friend, go?"

Jonathan laughed. "Oh, the girl's a free spirit. I never know when she'll show up next."

"Right. But where did she GO?"

"Go? Yes, she had to go to the bathroom. Have you checked in there?"

Bey sighed and sat back in the metal chair. "Yes, Jonathan, I've checked there. That was last night."

"Is something getting you down, old buddy?"

"I think I'm in the wrong line of work."

"Hmm. I see. Have you considered being a gigolo? The ladies would like you."

"I don't think my wife would appreciate that, Jonathan."

"Ah, right, Deana. How's she doing these days?"

"She's well. You can give me career advice later, Jonathan. Right now we've got to find your sister and that bastard O'Connell."

"My sister's in town?"

Bey shook himself mentally, imagining the day of his retirement so he could officially beat Jonathan up and not get a lecture from the president. "No, she's on Mars. I have an idea where they might have gone. Come on."

"Why do I have to come?"

"Because you have the mentality of a twelve-year-old."

"What was that?"

"Because you are a valuable part of the team. I need you by my side, Jonathan."

"Well, I guess if you put it that way."

Evelyn awoke to the scratching of claws against wood. She raised a weary head from the couch (couch?...what the hell?...) and saw a pudgy white cat at the door (she didn't remember that door...), crying to be let out. She didn't own a cat. Hell, she didn't even like cats. 

She managed to drag herself upright and stumbled over to the door. The cat shot out into the morning sun, a white blur of cursed allergy inducing fur. She slammed the door behind it, soon regretting it when the noise only increased the incessant throbbing of her head. She remembered only too well why her head throbbed so, but the memory was a bit hazier when it came to why she'd woken up on an unfamiliar couch the next morning. 

It was then that she caught sight of the note on the coffee table. _Evelyn_, it read, _don't worry. Apparently you're not a very fun drunk. You spent the night on my couch because I didn't think you'd like explaining to the president why you and your brother's girlfriend drank away his private liquor stash. Hope you don't mind. Although after all you drank yesterday I'm not sure you'll want any food, there's some in the micro if you'd like something to eat. --Rick._

Well, that was reassuring...sort of. She wasn't sure she could trust O'Connell, but he seemed nice enough. The fact that she was still wearing the suit she'd had on when she'd arrived in the U.S. was a good sign, at least. 

After spending a good bit of time sitting on the floor of the bathroom, Evelyn finally decided she felt enough like a human being to take a shower and eat something. Wondering if her luggage was still in O'Connell's jeep in that alleyway, she peeked timidly into O'Connell's closet (tidying as she went), finally grabbing a Seattle Mariners sweatshirt from the top of a drawer. Her suit was a wreck, what with the car accident, the assassination attempt, the hangover...God, she needed a vacation from her vacation. 

The food in the microwave turned out to be a breakfast burrito set neatly on a little paper plate, with a note attached that said, _Done throwing up? Good. Eat this._ Evelyn couldn't help but smile. She supposed O'Connell was rather sweet. After all, he'd taken a bullet to save her...but that had, after all, been his job once. It had probably just been instinct.

As the microwave hummed in the background, she snapped on the radio and a song she didn't recognize floated gently through the airwaves...

__

How long have I been in this storm?

So overwhelmed by the ocean's shapeless form

Water's getting harder to tread

With these waves crashing over my head

If I could just see you, everything would be all right

If I could just see you, the darkness would turn to light

And I will walk on water

And you will catch me if I fall

And I will get lost into your eyes

And everything will be all right...

Evelyn wiped a tear out of her eye as the song continued to play softly in the background. What was wrong with her? It was insane what this guy was doing to her emotions. One moment she was fine, going about her business, perfectly fine on her own without a boyfriend or a husband or...anyone. The next she found herself head over heels for a man she didn't even know! "I'm nuts," she muttered to herself, turning off the radio with a click.

Unfortunately, she was not as alone as she thought she was. "Talk to yourself often?"

"O'Connell! I didn't know you were there."

"Obviously. So why are you nuts?"

"What?"

"You said you were nuts."

"Oh. That. Nothing."

"And why are you wearing my shirt?"

Evelyn looked down, and the Seattle Mariners logo looked back up at her. She looked back up and O'Connell had suddenly gotten quite closer than he had been moments earlier. "Oh. Well, my luggage is still in your car that alleyway and I needed some clothes."

"Yeah, I got that. I was wondering more about the part where you chose not to put pants with that particular outfit."

"Oh. Right. They, uh, didn't match."

"It's impossible to get a straight answer from you, isn't it? You should have gone into politics, you know that?"

"Yes, well, the field of library science was just too exciting to turn down."

"I see. Fun job?"

"No, actually, it's incredibly boring. And I never get to..." He was definitely too close now... "...meet new people or..." His hands... "...do new things...." He was leaning in...

"Why were you crying?" he asked softly. 

"I don't know. I think I may be in love with you."

"Yeah. That's what I thought." 

"Just kiss me already, O'Connell."

"You can call me Rick."

Evelyn smiled. "Rick." A more perfect moment she could not have imagined, standing barefoot in the middle of a kitchen about to share a first kiss with a guy that made her stomach do flip flops. She stood on her tiptoes to meet his lips, and the previous perfect moment was instantly topped by what followed. 

If a kiss had ever smoldered, it was this one. A tentative spark...then flames, explosions, fireworks... His hands crept slowly up her back, entangling hopelessly in her wet hair, desperately fighting not to get lost in one little kiss, not to fall in love...it was useless. They were both goners. 

Buttercup and Wesley had nothing on this one.

~*~*~*~

Dang, that was fluffy. Major thesaurus work on that one. It's really getting harder and harder to write romance like that because it's all been done so many times. But it's a great change writing present-day, because you can reference culture that you can't when you're writing in a 1920's setting. 

Side note: I'm writing a modern day fic, I had to put the Mariners in it in some small way:) So sue me, Mariners rock!!! TWO OUTS SO WHAT? bwahahahahahaha...Any other Mariners fans out there!?!?

The song on the radio was "Storm" by Lifehouse. Don't own it, they do (obviously:).

RSVP:)


	6. Nice Breaks

I LOVE EVERYONE!!! Y'all brighten my day to no end!!! :) :) :)

Kat, Al...Buttercup and Wesley are only the heroine and hero of the best book ever written, _The Princess Bride_... Now go read it! :) Also to Al...I know it was a bit sudden, but my fingers just type what my muse dictates...don't get me wrong, though, I'm sure there'll be a few bumps in the road ahead for our lovely couple....;)

PZB, I think it's called "Breathing," and I love that band too! :)

Angelgirl: Boonie rocks! I love him, too! He's one of my faves...along with Edgar and Dan and John...and everyone;)

Sheri: Yeah! Another fellow baseball fan! I harbor no resentment toward the Reds for taking Ken away from us because I honestly think that him and A-Rod leaving was the best thing that could have happened to the M's...I could go on for a while but at this point I think I've crossed into the babbling stage :)

Deana--I'm glad you liked it, LOL:) If you'd allow me I can write you into the story more a bit later:) Perhaps coaching Evy on the hazards of being married to a secret service agent... (cough cough sequel hint hint;)

Evelyn, MBooker and I think alike, apparently. Honestly, there are about three men in the entire world who look good with long hair, Oded Fehr, Heath Ledger and Johnny Depp among them. ;)

Title is a line I think I remember from "Gone in Sixty Seconds." I could be wrong.

6: Nice Breaks

Evelyn propped herself up on one elbow and eyed O'Connell. "I know what's different," she said. "You cut your hair."

"Why yes I did, Detective Evelyn. How observant of you."

"Why?"

He shrugged. "Some women find long hair unattractive on men. Thought I'd better play the odds."

"You little..."

Her admonition, however, was cut short as he kissed her, invaded her mouth again as his hands...well, his hands were occupied as well, and Evelyn willingly surrendered. A part of her should have been shocked that she was where she was, sans clothing and lying in bed with an equally undressed man who she'd known less than two days. But she didn't care. Something about him made her feel like a princess in a fairy tale, and she was perfectly willing to stay lost in the fantasy. 

He'd ended the kiss, opting instead for simply staring into her eyes. It unsettled her a bit. What did he think of her? Did he have feelings for her? Did he... "What are you thinking about?" she asked him. 

He grinned. "You."

"Me?" she said, mocking amazement. "What about me?"

He sat up slightly and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, running his hand down the side of her cheek. "I want to know who you are. I want to know what your favorite color is, how you take your coffee, where you like to eat. I want to know what you want to do with your life, the types of people you hang out with, where you grew up. You're this amazing, beautiful, brilliant woman and I have no idea who you are. Tell me."

"Well. Where would you like me to start?"

"I get to pick? Let's see..." He settled himself back into the pillow, preparing to hear a story, but his eyes were still serious. "Why don't you quit your job if you hate it so much?"

"Actually, what I really want to do is go back to grad school. Be a real archaeologist instead of being stuck in a dusty library all day long."

"Why don't you?"

She shrugged. "It's become comfortable. I have a routine. I get up in the morning, I go to work, I take crap from my supervisors, I go home...and then I get up the next day and do it all over again. Weekends I have my friends, my uncle, Jonathan when he's in town, which is almost never."

"Friends? Any...boyfriends?"

"No!" Upon reflection Evelyn thought that perhaps she'd said that a little too quickly. "I mean...of course not. Why, do you...have any...girlfriends?"

"Yes."

She tried not to be disappointed. She really did. She should have known, after all, that a man like him, one so handsome and dashing and brave and--stop it, Evelyn!...She should have known that she couldn't have him, not really. 

"Just one. Her name is Evelyn Carnahan," he said, "and I'm falling for her."

She couldn't stop the giddy grin from immediately finding its way to her face as relief washed over her. This time it was she who initiated the kiss, all notions of propriety completely vanished this time as.....

Unfortunately, they were disrupted by the sound of a door swishing open, a footstep, and then a long string of curses that faded as whoever it was retreated back into the hallway. O'Connell added a few swear words of his own as he and Evelyn leapt from the bed, throwing on whatever clothes they could grab first. 

"Who was that?" Evelyn asked, but Rick didn't answer her as he stormed out of the bedroom. 

"Bey!" he yelled as he reached the living room. "What the hell are you doing in my apartment! Do you know how many times I've changed those locks?! You guys just can't walk in any time you feel like it! Christ, you've probably got this place bugged! There's probably cameras all over the place! Hell, you perverts were probably back at the Treasury watching--"

"Trust me, O'Connell, I saw much more than I needed to."

"What the hell are you doing here?" Rick repeated. "And who is that?"

Jonathan sat on the couch where Bey had left him, staring glassy-eyed at the spectacle in front of him. "Name's Carnahan," he said. "Jonathan Carnahan. Who are you?"

"Rick O'Connell. I'm sleeping with your sister."

"Ah. Cheerio, then. Got anything to eat? I'm starved."

"What the hell did you do to him, Bey, he's completely--"

"I know!" Bey interrupted, patience gone. "It is beyond my power to keep that man sober! And what do you mean his--"

"Uh, excuse me gentlemen," said Evy from behind them. "Might I be included in the conversation?"

"Evelyn!" Bey cried. "That was you? Oh Allah, is the world going completely to hell?"

"Hey," Rick protested, "what's that supposed to mean?"

"Seriously, people, I'm starved..."

"Shut up!" said Evelyn. "Would everyone just shut up!"

All three snapped their mouths closed instantly and looked to her, but Evelyn found she had nothing to say. She also realized that she was standing there in nothing but a t-shirt, and her anger quickly turned to embarrassment. "Uh, Ardeth, you wouldn't happen to have my luggage with you?"

"It's outside in the car."

"I'll go--"

"No, you won't. Someone's trying to kill you, you're not going to go out there by yourself."

"I'll get it," O'Connell muttered, and stalked out the front door.

"Why is this happening to me?" Evelyn asked Bey quietly. 

"I don't know. I'll find out, Evelyn, don't worry."

"Find what?" O'Connell had returned with Evelyn's suitcases and she grabbed them gratefully and retreated to the bathroom as the men continued their discussion. With the door shut she could still hear the raised voices. Something had obviously happened between them, and--

Wait a minute. This wasn't her luggage. It looked like it, the same black bag with the blue and yellow tag...

But it wasn't. Instead of nice safe professional suits and skirts, muted hues of browns and blues and grays...Evelyn's eyes beheld bright reds, gold, black, embellishing low cut tops and stylish studded jeans. She dug through the suitcase for a moment, unearthing a small square bag filled with eye makeup and lipsticks, and a pair of impossibly high stilettos adorned with little butterflies. 

"Ardeth?" Evelyn peeked timidly around the corner of the hallway, brandishing the suitcase. "This isn't my luggage."

"What do you mean that's not your luggage?"

"I _mean_ you gave me the luggage of some sixteen-year-old with no fashion sense."

Agent Bey scratched his head. "That was the bag in O'Connell's jeep. We could go down to the impound lot to see--"

"Hey!" said O'Connell. "You had my car impounded?!"

"You left it in the middle of an alley," Bey smirked. "The law's the law."

"Never mind." Evelyn rolled her eyes as the men continued to clash. Her bag must have gotten switched in the airport in London. She'd have to make do...besides, those suits weren't exactly...fashionable, anyway. Evelyn supposed her wardrobe could do with a little updating...

And updated she was. Evelyn stood in front of the mirror evaluating her new look. The jeans were a bit low cut for her taste, but the jewel-encrusted belt she'd found in the bottom of the bag went nicely with them, and complimented the black t-shirt with a sequined red and gold cross on the front. The shoes weren't so bad after all, she mused, as long as one didn't have to do any cross-country running in them. She'd tried just a thin layer of the eye makeup, then another, then another...Maybe the makeup was a bit much. Evelyn reached for a tissue but stopped dead when she heard a whistle from across the room.

O'Connell stood in the doorway, also obviously appreciating the change. "Wow," he said. "That's all I can say. Wow."

"You don't think the makeup's too--"

"No, it's gorgeous."

"God, did I look that bad before?"

He sidled up next to her and began nibbling on her ear. "Evelyn, you don't have to wear anything at all to be beautiful."

"Funny," she snapped, even as she was thinking _Yesssssssssss!!!!_

"No, it's actually quite sexy," he murmured into her neck. "I'd emphasize that point, but Bey is getting impatient. He wants to take you two back to the White House."

"Two? Like, me and Jonathan?...Are you..."

"You couldn't pay me to stay away." Rick turned her around to face him, and the fact that she stumbled a bit in the high heels worked out for the better as it gave him an opportunity to draw her closer. "I'm not going to let anything happen to you, okay? I'm not going to let you out of my sight."

"Promise?"

"Promise. Hey, I brought you the breakfast you never ate. Thought you might be hungry?"

What was it about that lopsided grin that caused her heart to melt so? "You're so sweet," she told him. 

"I know." With that, he handed her the plate from the microwave, freshly warmed, and kissed her softly. "Damn Bey," he muttered, before kissing her nose and exiting the room. 

---

If all guys were as fabulous as this fictional one, the world would be such a nicer place. Sigh. 

Anyway, whatever happened to Meela and the tourists? I know it's been a while since we visited them, but I think in the next chapter we'll find out. 

Reviews make me happy :)


	7. O'Connell Wins the Award for Understatem...

7: O'Connell Wins the Prize for Understatement of the Year

Voices, three of them, floating through the fog...

"We should wake her up."

"How do you suggest we do that?"

"I don't know. We could throw some water on her face, that always works."

"Yeah, in the movies. That'll just get her wet. Besides, you see any water around here?"

"I was just suggesting..."

Meela forced her eyes open, struggling to focus them in the dim light. Three men stood above her arguing about something or other, most likely the unconscious woman at their feet. They hadn't seemed to notice, however, that she'd woken up. She sat up slowly and finally caught their attention.

"Oh!" one of them cried. "Uh...hello."

"Who are you?" Meela asked weakly. "Where am I?"

The men looked nervously at each other before one of them answered. "We're, uh, lost. We were sort of hoping _you_ knew where we were."

Meela stood on shaky feet with no assistance from any of the three men. "Strangely enough, this seems familiar."

"So you _do_ know where we are!" 

"No, I didn't say that."

"Well, how did you get here?"

"Trap door. How about you guys?"

"Uh...We were...looking for a--"

"Daniels!"

"What? I didn't tell her anything!"

"You were going to!"

"Would you just let me handle things, guys? I'm the leader, here!"

"You are not, Burns! I am!"

"What? You are not, Henderson, and neither is Burns! We agreed that I would..."

The three voices faded into the background as Meela walked away from the bickering trio. Honestly, why did all the men she came across have to be such frigging idiots? They weren't going to be any help, that was for sure, and Meela was quite confident that she could get out of this on her own. She rounded a corner, the voices becoming more and more distant, and spotted a doorway. It was just like the number of nondescript gray metal doors that lined the hallway, but something about it....

The door, pulsating with energy where it should be cold and lifeless, called to Meela as she produced a keycard from her pocket. She had no time to ponder where the keycard had come from before her hands swung the door open and beheld a most beautiful sight. 

Or a most gruesome sight, depending on your point of view. 

Bey steered his charges through various security measures, depositing Jonathan in the care of a bewildered intern with strict instructions to watch him like a hawk. "Evelyn," he said, "if you'd just come with me, and O'Connell--"

"I'm going with her."

"I don't know how happy Mr. President will be to see you, but--"

"I don't care. I'm not leaving Evelyn."

Evelyn seemed quite pleased with this arrangement, but Ardeth was still less than convinced. "Fine. But it's not my fault if he shoots you in the ass."

Bey directed the pair to the Oval Office and then left, saying he wanted to check up on something. "You don't seemed awed by the Oval Office," O'Connell remarked as he and Evelyn stood waiting. 

"Oh, I've been here before. Isaac and my father were great friends; he's always looked after us. Look, here's my picture. That's Jonathan, when we were little."

"Wow. Your picture is on the Oval Office desk."

"Yep." Her attention was drawn to another object on the desk, a large, heavy book. "Isaac said there was an artifact he wanted me to look at. This must be it." Evelyn looked up to find that Rick's attention was focused not on the book, but on her. "Rick, you're staring at me."

"Yes. I admit it."

"Why?"

He grinned, knowing she didn't care. "Just because you're beautiful."

"All right then, go ahead."

"Having permission takes all the fun out of it."

"Well whatever are you going to do with yourself then?"

"Hmm. How about..." Rick kissed her again, and it struck Evelyn as very funny that she, of all people, was having a make-out session in the Oval Office. Not that she was complaining, of course. 

"Cut that out, you two," said Izzy as he swung the door open. Rick and Evelyn jumped apart guiltily. 

"Hello, Isaac."

"Hello, Evy. O'Connell."

"Pleasure, Mr. President," replied Rick. 

"I can see that."

"Is this book what you wanted me to look at, Isaac?"

"Yes."

"Where did you get it?"

The President sat behind the desk with a sigh. "It was found in a closet last month by a cleaning crew."

"How? I mean, was it stored in a box, or...?"

"We don't know. They're all..." Izzy paused. "...dead."

"What? How?"

"Unrelated incidents. One killed himself, one died in a car crash, and the other...well, actually the last one is still in a coma up at GW."

"What happened to him?"

"Her. Attempted mugging."

"That's horrible."

"Sounds suspicious," said O'Connell. "Three people in fatal or near-fatal situations within weeks of finding this thing?"

"That's what I thought," agreed Izzy. "No one can tell me what the damn thing is, though. Which is where you come in, Evy."

Evelyn had a look of great concentration on her face. "It's definitely Egyptian. Three thousand years old, maybe more."

"How do you know all this?" asked Rick.

"It's my specialty. My aunt was Egyptian, it was like a second home to us growing up."

"Do you know what it is?"

Evelyn bit her lip. "Yes, unfortunately."

"I don't like the sound of that."

"The Tutankhamen exhibit was in London in 1972. My aunt worked there, after we moved I remember her telling us that a very precious book had been stolen a few months prior to the opening. I think this...This is the Book of the Dead."

"The Book of the Dead? Maybe we shouldn't be playing around with this."

Izzy opened a drawer and removed a round object. "This was found as well. We think it's a key, but we can't figure out how to open it."

Within moments of taking the key from Izzy, they heard a tiny click and just like that Evelyn had the key open. She placed the star-shape into the cutout on the front of the book. 

"I really don't think this is a good idea."

"It's just a book," replied Evelyn as she unlocked it. "No harm ever came from reading a book."

"What's it say?"

"Ah mun ra, ah mun dai... It speaks of the night and of the day... Imhotep en set pique set suey yahtoay yahtoay yahtoay..."

With a slight hiss all the lights went off. O'Connell broke the silence. "Well, that can't be good..."

Meela was startled out of her reverie as she felt a slight tremor run through the floor. The lights flickered off for a movement, and when they came up the corpse she'd stumbled upon was...moving!!! 

He blinked a few times, attempting to focus on the frozen woman in front of him. "Annie," he said, recognition lighting up his grisly face. "Come with me, my darling. It is time to make you mine, for all eternity."

Ivan would have thought she'd be pleased. Of course, owing to the nearly rotted through vocal chords that Ivan possessed, what really came out was more like a demonic growl.

So when 'Annie' suddenly produced a potted plantfrom behind her back and whacked Ivan over the head with it, Ivan was more than a little confused (and that wasn't just the concussion talking!)

~*~*~*~

My Imhotep already has eyes, okay? So sue me:)~ I'm diverging majorly from TM now so don't be alarmed by all these plot changes, d'accord? Merci:)


	8. Oldest Story in the Book

8: Oldest Story in the Book

"I went to pre-school in the States, little place on a hill across the river. Best friend was Kennedy. We were inseparable. Who knows what kind of connections I could have had if we'd stayed in the States. Always have had a knack for politics, everyone tells me so. Oh, hey, the lights are coming back on. Nope, false alarm. But anyway, when we moved to London, I transferred to St. Martin's. It's a posh little school in the upper-east side, strictly for the rich and famous, if you know what I mean. My family has money, of course, always has. Did I mention that I'm rich?"

The intern Ardeth had assigned to guard Jonathan nodded. She kept sneaking looks at the clock behind his head, though she doubted the man would notice, he was so wrapped up in his story. As long as she remembered to nod every once in a while, he didn't seem to mind that she wasn't paying attention. Honestly, the things she was forced to do to serve her country...

Suddenly her charge had lost interest in himself (what a change!) for a woman streaked by the desk where they sat, and he leapt up. "Meela!" Jonathan yelled, and she whirled around, eyes wide.

"Oh, it's you," she sighed. "I thought it was...never mind."

"Where have you been?"

Meela decided to be direct. "I'm the reincarnation of your father's mistress."

"Oh." Jonathan nodded. "Well, it was lovely while it lasted."

"Yes, we had some good times."

"See you around?" Jonathan held out his hand.

Meela shook it. "Of course. Bye."

"Bye."

As Meela ran off again, Jonathan returned to his chair and the poor intern, who was obviously more confused than ever. "Uh...who was that?"

"Ex-girlfriend. Hey..." Jonathan scooted his chair a little closer and wiggled his eyebrows in what he hoped was a seductive way. "You seeing anyone?"

The intern was spared the indignity of a response, for another person had stopped at the little desk. His flesh, if you could call it that, teemed with tiny little gold-tinged scarabs, and his eyes rolled around in the sockets a little owing to the lack of connective tissue. "Where is she?" he growled. Jonathan raised a hand and pointed down the hallway, though all that came out of his mouth was a squeak. "Thank you," said the corpse, and stalked off in the direction indicated. 

Izzy, Evelyn and O'Connell sat in the darkened Oval Office for only a scant moment before Bey burst in, followed by several more agents. "Mr. President! Are you all right?"

"Yes, Bey, I can see just fine in the dark."

"We heard screaming."

"Wasn't us." Izzy turned to Evelyn. "Do you remember hearing screaming?"

"All I know," said O'Connell, "is that something is very, very wrong."

Evelyn rolled her eyes. "Honestly, people, it was just coincidence that al the lights went out and...there was an earthquake and screaming...at the same time...as I read...from the...Book of the...Dead," she finished quietly. "Oh."

"You read from the book?" screeched a man from the doorway. "You must not read from the book!"

A long period of silence followed this outburst. Bey cleared his throat. "Uh...who are you?"

The man stood up exceedingly straight and puffed his chest out. "Dr. John Chamberlain, official White House Egyptologist."

"We have an Egyptologist?" asked Izzy. "Why didn't I know about this?"

"Because, sir, they stuck my office the basement thirty years ago and I've toiled there in unheeded brilliance ever since."

"But..._why_ do we have an Egyptologist?"

"Well, to cover up the scandal," answered Dr. Chamberlain, adjusting his fez. Everyone blinked a few times, not comprehending the apparent weight of his words. "Come on, people, President Carnahan?" he tried. "The Book of the Dead?" No luck. "Ivan Darkmann? Anastasia Velasquez? Love, sex, tragedy, intrigue? Don't you people _read_?" 

"Bey," said Izzy, "get these agents out of here. We need to talk to Dr. Chamberlain alone. And O'Connell, get out."

"I'm not leaving Evelyn."

Now it was Izzy's turn to roll his eyes. "Oh, Jesus, I never thought I'd see the day. O'Connell in l--"

"Izzy!" interrupted Rick. "Start talking, Chamberlain. _Now_."

Dr. Chamberlain sized Rick up, decided he did not care to get beaten up that day, and began the tale. "You all know the story of President Carnahan. Brilliant politician from Seattle, elected president in 1960, loving wife, two young children--"

"One of which would be me," said Evelyn quietly. "My brother's in the building, too, I'm sure he'd love to hear this."

"Oh. I see. Well, we'll just skip over the--"

"We need the _whole_ story," said Izzy. "That includes the unpleasant parts. I'm sorry, Evy."

Dr. Chamberlain's eye began to twitch. "Anyway, his wife dies of cancer in '62. His mistress, however, Anastasia Velasquez, was in the picture long before that. Carnahan finds out, however, that his personal assistant, Ivan Darkmann, is having an affair with Anastasia and confronts the pair. Annie kills the president, kills herself, and Ivan disappears off the face of the earth."

"Yes?" asked Izzy. "What's new there?"

"That, Mr. President, is the story everyone knows. The truth, however, is much darker. Annie killed herself, yes, but she had no intention of staying dead. Somehow she gave Ivan instructions to find that Book--" He pointed to the tome which Evelyn still clutched. "He retrieved it, and attempted to resurrect her. He was stopped just in time, and cursed with the very same book."

"Cursed?" asked Evelyn. She set the Book carefully down on the desk and backed away. "What curse?"

"We believe..." said Dr. Chamberlain, "it was...the _Hom Dai_."

Evelyn's eyes widened but everyone else remained clueless. "The Hom Dai?" asked Bey. "What is that?"

"The worst of all Egyptian curses," answered Evelyn. "One they reserved only for the most evil of blasphemers."

"But who cursed him?"

"A renegade faction of the Secret Service took matters into their own hands. The vice president wanted nothing to do with it, however, and gave them all handsome severance packages to keep their mouths shut. They destroyed the corpse and all the evidence, and no one breathed a word of it for thirty years."

"Well they obviously didn't destroy the Book and key," said Evelyn. "That means they probably didn't get rid of the body, either."

"Exactly. I suppose we'll know soon enough, _with you resurrecting him and all_!!!"

O'Connell came to Evelyn's defense. "Hey, calm down, she didn't know."

"Calm down?!" shrieked the Egyptologist. "Calm down?! He's probably going to kill us all!!!"

"He's not going to kill you," said a new voice. "He's not a violent person."

Everyone whipped around to behold a woman standing in the doorway to the President's private office. "How did you get in there?" asked Izzy. 

"I have a key," said the woman. 

"Who are you?"

"It's Meela," supplied Evelyn. "Jonathan's girlfriend."

"Oh, no." Meela shook her head. "We've broken up."

"I'm sorry. Why?"

Before Meela could answer, a cold wind zipped through the room, and strange scratching noise filled their eardrums. "What the..." O'Connell began, but his question was answered soon enough by the appearance of...

Bugs! Tiny little bluish-gold winged things that burst from the floor and made straight for anything with flesh. "Scarabs!" cried Dr. Chamberlain, who whirled on his heel and ran for the exit. A mad dash ensued to escape the Oval Office, one which succeeded for everyone but the secret service agent who had unwittingly peeked in to see what everyone was running from. 

When the scarabs were finished feasting on his corpse, they looked up to find that the office was by now empty except for another body...but wait, he was standing! Ooh, he was moving! More food! Yum yum!

Ivan entered the Oval Office seconds after it had been deserted by everyone but his dutiful herd of scarabs. "Go after them!" he instructed, but they didn't seem to want to leave the room. In fact, they were...moving toward him! "Hey!" he tried. "Get away! No, don't eat _me_! I'm already dead! You're supposed to chase the good guys! They went that way! I'm your master, damn it! Hee, hee, that tickles! No, bad scarab, bad!..."

The mummy sighed, resigned to their determination as the scarabs continued to chew at his already rotten muscles. He supposed it was about time to find some human sacrifices anyway... Now if he could just find the men who'd opened that chest...

~*~*~*~

If anyone reading this has flown into D.C. recently, I'd like to ask you a few questions about the airport for a scene in the *cough cough* sequel :):):)


	9. Being James Marsters

Yes, I meant 1972. Too tired to fix it at the moment, but eventually. Thanks, Kat G:) Deana, if you insist I may include a Deana/Ardeth kissing scene. Just be patient ;) Thanks to everyone!:):):)

I apologize profusely for the delay on this story, but when my muse finds herself in the hell that is writer's block, it is sometimes hard to coax her out again. Sorry:):):) ~Buff

9: Being James Marsters

Beni was not one to be frightened easily, but he found the deserted White House to be quite disconcerting. He'd gone into the men's restroom and when he'd emerged minutes later, not a soul was to be seen. A few corpses lay strewn here and there, upon which a few scarabs munched happily, but for the life of him Beni could not figure out what was happening. Had he really been in the bathroom _that _long?

Suddenly Beni's answer came around the corner, causing Beni to jump nearly out of his shoes. It appeared to be a walking corpse, though of course he knew that was impossible. The corpse reached inside his moldy plaid jacket and pulled out a tattered photograph. He seemed to sigh as he looked at the picture. 

Ivan was indeed quite depressed. How was he ever supposed to win back Meela like this? Apparently no one had opened the chest yet, and so there was nothing to be done for his decayed appearance. If only he had those damn human sacrifices!

While anyone else might be a bit perturbed by Ivan's appearance, Beni seemed to have gotten over his initial shock and was taking it rather well. "Who's that in the picture?" he ventured.

Ivan looked up, contemplating killing the man who'd interrupted his brooding but deciding against it. "She's my...well, she was my girlfriend." Ivan handed the picture over. "Now I'm not so sure."

"Maybe you're trying too hard."  
"You think?"

"Don't beat her over the head with your intentions. Be subtle, you know, be cool. Be James Marsters."

"James who?"

"That's another thing. Get with the times." Beni eyed the corpse's attire with a critical eye. "I mean, look at that plaid jacket. Your girlfriend looks like a woman of the millennium, and you look like you've come straight out of the seventies."

"But I _did_ come straight out of the seventies." 

"Riiiiight... Like I said, we've got to modernize you."

"And how are we going to do that?"

Daniels emerged from around the corner, holding some sort of large box. "Hey, guys! Look what I found! It was in a cleaning closet, I think it's food!"

His two companions perked up at this. "But what's it say?" asked Burns. "Do either of you read ancient Egyptian?"

"Nah, but come on!" said Daniels. "What harm ever came from opening a chest?"

"I don't know," reasoned Henderson. "Didn't you see all those mummy movies?"

"It's food, I'm telling you! And I'm starving!"

Daniels threw off the top of the box with a flourish and as the dust blew into their faces the three men were all seized by sneezing fits. 

"Where the hell's the food?"

"Hmm..." Daniels appeared to be thinking hard. "Sorry, guys, my mistake."

If either Burns or Henderson had had the energy, they might have murdered Daniels on the spot, but the fatigue of nearly a day lost in the basement of the White House was wearing on them. "Now what?" said Burns. "We have to get out of here!"

"Ooh! I've got it, I've got it!" shouted Daniels. 

"You've got what?" asked Henderson.

"I've got a way for us to get out of here!"

"Oh, really. Does it involve you shutting the hell up?!?!"

"Come on, Henderson, don't let a little thing like lack of food and water get you down! I've got a master plan!"

"Let's hear it, then. 

"Okay." Daniels took a deep breath, preparing his audience for the brilliance of his plan. "We...split up."

The other two returned only blank looks to the unveiling of Daniel's plan. "Come on, people! It's brilliant!"

"Uh...why?"

"Because, as soon as we split up, someone will find one of us. It always works in the movies! That, or we'll each be picked off by a homicidal maniac one by one, but what are the chances of that happening?"

"Aaah!" cried Burns as he stood. "I can't deal with this any longer! You two are idiots! You're gonna get us all killed! Good _day_, gentlemen!"

"Burns, where you going?"

"Away from you two!" Burns picked a random corridor and started down it. "I can't stand it any longer!"

"Um..." Daniels trailed off as he and Henderson watched Burns disappear down the hallway. "Maybe we should stick together."

"But the damn split up plan was _your_ idea!"

"Yeah, but...now that it's actually happening...I mean, Burns seems pretty stupid to be going off on his own, doesn't he? What if there really _is_ a homicidal maniac loose?"

"Bet you twenty bucks there's not."

"Okay. But double your money if we never see Burns again."

"Oh, he'll be fine. Burns is a smart guy..."

O'Connell locked the door behind them with a sigh of relief. "Okay, we should be safe in here. For a while, at least. Everyone accounted for?"

Someone flipped a light switch, revealing that they seemed to be in a broom closet of sorts. O'Connell counted heads. Izzy, Ardeth, Chamberlain (cowering in a corner, he noticed), Evelyn...

Wait, where was Evelyn? "Where's Evelyn? Where's Evelyn?!"

"Calm down, O'Connell." Evelyn stepped out from the corner and into the light. "I'm right here."

"Jesus, Evelyn, stay where I can see you!"

How dare he be so patronizing! "I can take care of myself, O'Connell!"

O'Connell took a step toward her, but the close quarters did not contain the shouting match that was quickly building. "Oh yes, you've certainly proved that so far, haven't you?"

Evelyn's mouth fell open. "What is _that_ supposed to mean?!"

Izzy stepped between the pair. "Listen, you two, if you're having relationship problems, this is neither the time nor the place for discussing them."

"Relationship?!" cried Evelyn. "What relationship? I met him yesterday!"

"Well, you certainly seemed willing to hop into bed with me! Or were you still drunk?!"

"How _dare_ you imply that--" Evelyn stopped short. "Oh, God, O'Connell, you're bleeding."

"What? Damn it, the stitches must have pulled out while we were running."

Ardeth and Evelyn set about searching the shelves for supplies. "Well if you were more careful," said Evelyn, "it wouldn't have happened."

"Yeah, if I wasn't so busy saving your life."

Evelyn held a towel to the freshly-opened bullet wound. "Just watch yourself, okay?" she said. "I don't want you to..." She sniffed audibly and O'Connell tilted her head upward to see that she was crying. "I don't want you to..."

"Hey, it's okay. I'm okay. Don't cry."

"It's just that..." Evelyn finally met his eyes and the rest of the world seemed to fall away. "I love you."

O'Connell certainly would have responded but the president tapped him on the shoulder. Evelyn could not tell whether O'Connell was glad for the disruption, but he held tight to her while looking to an impatient Izzy.

"I hate to interrupt the moment," said the president, "but where did Meela go?..."

Meela ran until she'd lost the rest of the group. She had a feeling the scarabs chasing after them all was a direct result of her insulting the corpse, and she had no wish for anyone to get hurt because of her. All she wanted to do was curl up in a little ball and die. Of course, fat lot of good dying had done her the last time she'd tried it. Maybe next time she could be reincarnated as a bug or something. They certainly seemed to have less complicated love lives.

She realized she'd stumbled into someone's little office and caught sight of the phone on the desk. When all else failed, ask the experts! Of course! Meela rushed to the phone and dialed the 1-800 number. After explaining her problem to an operator, he told her to hang on for a minute and he'd put her on.

A few minutes passed and suddenly a woman's voice came on the line. "Next up we have Meela, in Washington, D.C. How are you doing tonight, Meela?"

"Thanks so much for taking my call, Dr. Lily. I just love your show."

"Thank you, Meela. Now what's your question today?"

"All right. See, it turns out I'm the reincarnation of this chick who killed the president thirty years ago, and now my ex-lover has risen from the dead to be with me. I already broke up with my boyfriend over this, which is okay cuz he was the president's son anyway, and you know, eew..."

"Did you know that while you were dating him?"  
"No, because I couldn't remember my other life then. But, my question is, I know it's really sweet that this guy has come back from the dead to be with me and everything--"  
"Meela honey, all that matters is what _you_ feel. Don't let this guy push you into a relationship."

"I know, but I mean, how many guys would do that?" 

"Do you still love him?"

"Well, see, it's not really me. _I_ don't, but my alternate personality does. I think we're fighting for control of my body, you know, a two souls in one package kind of deal."

"Meela, it seems like you just need to step back from the situation for a minute, okay? A part of you obviously still loves this guy, and you probably always will, right? But now that you've experienced life without him, you're not so sure. Does it sound like I'm on the right track here?"

"Yes, Dr. Lily, absolutely."

"Okay. So now the question is, was your life better before he came back into it?"

"Well, people seem to be dying around me lately."

"Anything else?"

"Oh...I don't know. I think he still has to sacrifice some people to regenerate."

"Meela, this isn't about them, this is about you. It sounds like you need to take control of your own life and make your own decisions. Don't let anyone else tell you who you are."

"Wow, Dr. Lily, that was so beautiful."

"No problem, kid. Next caller!"

Meela hung up the phone and contemplated her shoes for a moment. When she looked up, a corpse stood in front of her, but at least he was a rather well-dressed corpse. The plaid jacket had been replaced by a worn-looking, knee-length duster and rather tight black leather pants, topped off by a bleach-blond toupee that sat crooked on Ivan's uneven head. "See?" Ivan said hopefully. "I'm, uh...cool. Yeah, that's it, I'm cool."

Suddenly Burns burst into the room, finally having found freedom from the basement. "Ha ha ha!" he chortled, a slightly mad gleam in his eye. "I knew I didn't need those idiots! I..." He trailed off at the sight of the mummy. 

"Finally!" cried Ivan. "Took you long enough to get here! It's like the writer forgot to have someone open the chest before this chapter!"

Someone new ran into the room just as Ivan reached for Burns. "Hey! I'm sorry, okay! There's a lot of plot thingies to keep track of in this story! So sue me!"

Ivan rolled his eyes. "I forgive you, Buffelyn. Can I get on with the human sacrifice now?"

"Oh, I suppose."

Permission granted, Burns began his show of screaming, and Ivan promptly sucked the life out of him. As his shriveled body fell to the floor, the door burst open, and the rescue party stumbled in. "Meela!" cried Evelyn. "We've come to...oh."

Everyone stopped quite suddenly as they watched Ivan's flesh crawl and ooze around his heretofore nearly bare bones. "Who's next?" Ivan asked, quite innocently, and after the stampede to get away, only himself and Beni were left in the little office. Ivan's shoulders slumped. "Annie didn't go for the new look, I guess."

"I told you the wig was going overboard," muttered Beni. 

"I think a new approach is in order..." growled Ivan, bitterness at Meela's rejection finally getting to him. "Let her hide among those puny mortals while she can. She will not be able to resist me next time..."

~*~*~*~

Buffelyn craves reviews...might you leave one for her?:):):)


	10. Very Bad Things

Heh heh. Buffy lines borrowed for this chapter. Oz and Cordy, if my memory serves me. Have fun:)

10: Very Bad Things

Beni eyed the exit as his boss paced the tiny room. If he made a run for it, what were his chances of getting more than two steps out of the door, alive? Slim to none, he knew. Beni decided he'd better just stick it out to the bitter end. After all, Ivan _had_ promised not to kill him. He'd never been lied to by a dead guy, and being a rather simple creature, Beni took the corpse at its word. 

"Come on," Ivan snarled. "I sense the sacrifices are near."

Beni nodded obligingly and followed Ivan from the office. "So what's with the temper?" he asked, blissfully unaware that he was going to piss Ivan off. "I mean, you could do with an attitude adjustment, know what I mean?"

Ivan turned and glowered at the annoying little man for a moment before deciding once again that it wasn't worth the effort. "I have to get out my anger somehow," he replied. "I just happen to be equipped for sucking the life out of people. It's, like, you know, my..."

"Sacred duty?"

"Yeah, sure, that works. It sort of comes with the whole curse deal. Ah ha, here it is!" Ivan came to a stop at the top of a precipitous staircase. "The sacrifices are down there. They're afraid."

"What, can you like, smell them or something?"

"Yeah."

"Eew. That's really disturbing."

"I really agree." By now they had reached the bottom of the staircase. Ivan motioned for Beni to be quiet. "The element of surprise," he whispered, and stole around the corner without a sound. 

Beni heard two men screaming, then one dashed around the corner and ran smack into him. "Watch where you're going!" he yelled as the man tore up the staircase and out of sight. Beni turned back just in time to watch the rather unpleasant sight of Ivan sucking the life out of the man he recognized as Henderson. 

"Mmm," said Ivan when he was finished. "I might have to become a cannibal after this is over."

"You look better," said Beni, trying not to cringe at his boss' new appearance. 

"I _feel_ better." Ivan studied himself. He did, indeed, look better, except for the irregular patches of missing skin that revealed grimy decomposed muscle fiber and the occasional scampering scarab. Ivan picked a scarab out of his arm and threw it in his mouth, taking pleasure from the satisfying _crunch_ as he chewed it. His powers were growing with each sacrifice, and as soon as he had the final one, he would be unstoppable...

"What's the fastest way out of here?" asked Rick as he and Bey shepherded the group down the hallway. 

"What about Jonathan?" Evelyn asked. 

Rick rolled his eyes. "What _about_ Jonathan?"

"We can't just leave him here!"

"Sure we can. Show of hands." Rick looked to the rest of the group. "Who votes we just get the hell out of here?"

"O'Connell!" Evelyn placed her hands on her hips and gave him her best glare. 

Damn, but she was beautiful. O'Connell sighed, knowing he would regret what he was about to say, but for the life of him he was unable to say no to her. "All right, all right. We'll find Jonathan. Where did you leave him, Bey?"

"I'll lead you there," Bey answered. 

"I just saw him," added Meela. "I'll come, too."

"Chamberlain, Mr. President, I want you to stay here with Evelyn, we'll be right--"

Rick was interrupted by Evelyn's outraged protest. "Excuse me, O'Connell, you're not just going to tell me to wait here for you like I'm some damsel in distress who can't take care of herself!"

"Evelyn, would you calm down?" Rick threw his hands in the air. "You're in charge, okay! I'm putting you in charge of the life of the President of the United States, okay!"

Ardeth took a step forward. "Hey. Who put _you_ in charge, O'Connell?"

Rick gave a yell of frustration. "Let's just go get Jonathan, okay?! We can deal with our competition issues later!" He turned to Evelyn and scooped her over his shoulder, despite her objections, and set her down in a nearby broom closet. He pushed Chamberlain and Izzy in as well and said, "Stay here," then slammed the door. "Give me your key card, Bey."

Agent Bey handed it over and Rick swiped it through the electronic lock, then handed it back. He could still hear Evelyn's furious complaints from the other side of the door (the President was none too happy, either), and tried to block from his mind how mad she was going to be when she got out of the closet. She was never going to forgive him. 

"Uh, I guess this means I get to come?" Meela asked. 

As much as it pained Bey, he was going to have put up with her. "That thing is obviously after you, I'm not going to leave you with the President," he said. 

Meela had gotten a very strange look on her face. "Oh, Agent Bey," she sighed. "Thank you _so_ much for everything you've done!"

With that she threw her arms around his neck and squeezed him tight. For a man unused to dealing with emotion, even from close friends, the shock of a strange woman hugging him resulted only in a confused, "Uh, sure." 

After a few moments Meela drew away, her smile wide. "Really. Thank you." She looked to Rick, who seemed just as puzzled at the display. "Uh, has anyone seen a bathroom nearby? I'm dying to pee."

"There's one just around the corner. But hurry, we have to get out of here."

"Just one second, I promise!" Meela skipped off in the direction indicated. 

Rick looked over at Bey, who seemed to be searching his person for something. "Everything all right, Bey?"

"My car keys," he muttered. "And my key card. My keys, Meela took my keys!"

Meela practically flew toward the exit, giddy with a sense of escape. In one hand she clutched Bey's car keys, in the other she had the key card that would allow her to get out of the parking structure and to freedom. Finally, a skill she'd learned from Jonathan that could be applied to the real world...pick pocketing! Her hands shook from the sheer relief of getting away from the White House. She was _never_ coming back to this blasted place. She was getting out of D.C., and she was forgetting about Ivan, Jonathan, everything! She was free!

She turned the key in the ignition and heard a strange scraping sound as the engine caught. Her last thought was that Bey's car probably needed a tune-up. 

The explosion shook the foundation and sent shock waves up through the feet of the trio trapped in the closet. A giant fracture ran straight across the floor, and the walls cracked and split, sending waves of suffocating dust their way. Evelyn tried the door again, but it still wouldn't budge. 

"What the hell was that?" Izzy choked out. "It sounded like an explosion."

"It's the Creature," whispered Chamberlain, who had somehow managed to wedge himself into a corner again. "He's going to kill us all!"

"It wasn't the Creature." Evelyn shook her head. "He uses plagues. Bugs, frogs, you know, stuff like that. No. Someone blew something up."

"What an astute observation," snapped Izzy. 

"O'Connell!" called Evelyn through the doorway. "Ardeth! Oh, I hope they're okay."

The president tapped Evelyn on the shoulder, prompting her to turn around. "Uh, about those plagues..."

Evelyn gave a horrified gasp as she caught sight of the crack on the floor, through which a million tiny flies seemed to be swarming and pulsing as one while they buzzed their way through the crack and into the closet. 

~*~*~*~

Reviews inspire me to write:):):):):):)

Okay, a question for my readers. Who has a crush on Jonathan and would like to have a cameo next chapter? I've got plans for Deana:) but I thought it'd be fun to put someone else in, too, and I have an idea. Any takers? 


	11. I Can't Believe They Killed Simon Donova...

I quote some more Oz/Cordy in this chap, so be on the lookout. Also, Simon Donovan from 'West Wing' liiiiiiiiives!!!! *cackle cackle cackle* And I had a great idea but nobody wanted to be in the story, so I scrapped that part. Just know that y'all missed a chance to make out with Jonathan. *cackle cackle* Aaaaaaanyway, here we go.....

11: I Can't F***ing Believe They Killed Simon Donovan

Bey and O'Connell reached the door to the underground garage just as the explosion reached the other side of it, and though they were knocked off their feet, the sturdy entryway protected them from major injury. As soon as Bey was up, he tried the door handle, but leapt back as soon as he touched it. 

"Hot!" he yelped, holding his hand. "What the hell just happened?"

"The timing is too perfect," said O'Connell. "My money's that you're going to have to shop for a new car."

Realization dawned on Bey's face, and he paled. "You don't think..."

"Yeah, I think." O'Connell grimaced as he stood. "Nobody's here but us, Meela just stole your keys, and an assassin already tried to kill Evelyn once." He took off his jacket and wrapped it around his hand, then tried the door handle again. As the door swung open, the sight that came into view confirmed O'Connell's suspicion. 

The walls of the parking garage were singed black, and though the few parked cars around the blast had been smashed up a bit, the real damage was obviously to what had recently been a sleek black SUV. Flames licked the ceiling as the car burned, and the heat caused the two men to take a step back. 

"Someone blew up my car," Bey muttered. "I can't believe someone blew up my car."

"My guess is that the people inside it were the key motivation."

"You think someone wanted to kill Meela."

"No. No one could have known she'd be in the car. Someone wanted to kill Evelyn. Or us. Or both."

Bey blinked for the first time since he'd laid eyes on his late car. "Speaking of Evelyn. She and the President are still in the broom closet."

"Yeah. So?"

"So Meela stole my key card. We have no way of getting them out."

O'Connell sighed heavily. "This just gets better and better, doesn't it?"

A violent wind suddenly whipped around the two men, and in an instant the blaze had been put out. A man appeared, or what could have once been called a man, for what stood in front of them could have just as easily been classified as a demon. His skin, while mostly there, was interspersed with shiny white bones and badly-decomposed muscle, and the look on his half-formed face could have killed. He took one look at the still-smoldering car and let out an ear-splitting roar. "Murderers!" he howled. "You will pay!!"

It was about that moment that Bey and O'Connell decided it would be a good time to run like hell. 

The trio in the closet had only a moment to register the unlikely horror of being trapped by a swarm of flies before they heard a great creaking noise and felt the floor bend beneath their feet, giving way to an entirely new terror. The ground gave way with a snap and suddenly, with a whoosh of fly-infested air, they found themselves landing with a huge crash on the floor below. The flies dispersed, the air cleared, and it appeared that the accident may have been tragic, for nobody moved a muscle. 

Finally Evelyn sat up, her head spinning, legs trapped beneath a rather heavy pile of floorboards. "Mr. President?" she asked to the silent air, not seeing anyone amidst the rubble of the collapsed closet. They appeared to have landed in a parking garage. "Mr. President!!!"

"What?" Izzy stood and dusted himself off. "I'm right here. Don't panic."

"'Don't panic?' I'm trapped!"

"Calm down, Evy, we'll get you out of here." Izzy began to move rubble off of his friend, though the pile was large and he knew it would take a while. "Hey, where's Chamberlain?"

Dr. Chamberlain answered this with a frightened scream as he leapt from his dazed position on the floor and began to sprint across the garage, running from something...

Ivan! He stood watching a blackened SUV, Beni lurking close behind. When he heard Chamberlain's screaming he turned and began to walk toward the President and the still-trapped Evelyn, a look of pure hatred on his face. 

"What are we going to do, what are we going to do?!?!" Evelyn cried. 

"Uh..." Izzy continued to throw floorboards off the pile. "Reason with him?"

Evelyn struggled to move her legs and still found she could not. "I personally don't think it's possible to come up with a crazier plan."

Izzy thought about this for a moment, then replied, "We attack the mummy with hummus."

"What?"

"Just trying to keep things in perspective."

"Thank you, Mr. President. Now would you please get me out of here?!?!?"

"I'm trying! I--oh, uh--"

By now Ivan had reached the pair and just like that had wrapped a half-decomposed hand around the President's throat, lifting him from the ground. "Well, what have we here?" Ivan asked as Izzy struggled for air. "Tsk, tsk, tsk. Caught at the scene of the crime. How convenient for me."

"Let him go!" Evelyn said, noting that she could now sort of move her legs beneath the heap of debris. "Let him go!"

Ivan turned his head to contemplate her. "And poor little Evelyn Carnahan, all grown up now. You were a sniveling little brat in 1972, and I see that hasn't changed. But, you will serve my purposes well enough." He let go of the President and threw him across the room, where he landed on the hood of a car, unconscious. 

"Uh, boss?" Beni said from behind him. "I found something for you."

Beni led Ivan to another nearby car, in which Daniels was asleep in the front seat. "Ah ha!" cried Ivan. "The final sacrifice!"

Daniels started awake at the intrusion of Ivan's horrible voice and had only time for a startled gasp before Ivan sucked the life out of him. "Mmmm," said the mummy, no longer a mummy but a man. He was rather gorgeous, Evelyn reflected, if he hadn't been a murderer, a stalker, and...heading straight for her!

With a simple wave of his hand, Ivan had flung the boards away from Evelyn so that she was free. Before she had time to react, however, he'd suddenly whirled himself into a giant sandstorm, which filled every nook and cranny of the garage in an instant. 

Ardeth and Rick raced through random hallways until they had become utterly lost, but this was okay because in the process they had somehow stumbled upon Jonathan. Literally. 

As Bey flew around a particularly blind corner, his feet suddenly hit something solid and he tumbled to the ground. Rick managed to skid to a halt before meeting the same fate. "Jonathan?" he asked. "What the hell are you doing on the ground?"

Jonathan, the source of Bey's troubles, looked up at Rick and shrugged. "Hiding from the mummy."

"What happened to the intern?" Ardeth asked, hauling Jonathan to his feet. 

"Uh, I think she got eaten. Hey, where's Evy?"

"In the closet," Rick replied. "Come on, we have to find them."

"It was right over the parking garage," Bey supplied. "Maybe if we retraced our steps..."

A man stepped around the corner and joined the little group. He was tall and handsome, with silvery hair. "Might I be of service?"

"Who are you???"

The man holstered his gun and held out his hand. "Simon Donovan, secret service agent."

"But...." Rick appeared very confused, as if he were seeing a dead man. "You were shot to death by the glaringly obvious second suspect in an unrealistic convenience-store robbery in the season finale of 'West Wing,' in a misguided attempt by Aaron Sorkin to make the viewers cry, which will really only result in us losing faith in the show, because come on, how many beloved recurring characters can he kill off, i.e., Mrs. Landingham, and expect us to invest our precious Wednesday at 9-10 p.m. slot in your show and still think he's going to win Emmys?!?!?!"

"Um," said Simon, "he _did_ win the Emmy."

"Damn!"

"Anyway, Buffelyn was so upset by my departure that she decided to raise me from the dead for the purposes of this story."

"Hey, what happened with C.J.? Are you two together?"

"Funny you should ask. In fact, we're married, have children, and are going to spend the rest of our lives in alternate universe bliss."

"Good for you two. C.J. deserves some happiness."

Ardeth stepped between the two, obviously impatient for the conversation to end. "Enough about 'West Wing.' Let's talk about my new show, 'Presidio Med,' in which I play--"

"No, no, no!" cried Jonathan. "_My_ new show is called 'MDs,' and _I_ play--"

"Let me guess," interrupted Rick. "You both play doctors bravely fighting the system in San Francisco hospitals, on different channels in the exact same time slot."

"Wow." Jonathan appeared awestruck. "You're good."

"Primetime TV is just getting so predictable," said Rick. "Hell, even _I_ was on 'Scrubs!'"

"People?" said Simon. "Shouldn't we be going and saving the President now?"

"Oh, yeah. To the closet!"

By the time the four men had found the closet again, it was obviously empty. After some heroic attempts at knocking the door down, the men resorted to guns, which effectively destroyed the door, though they still had to crawl through it to gain entrance. This proved to be somewhat of a problem, because the floor of the closet was pretty much gone. 

After all four of the rescuers had dropped through the floor and into the parking garage by way of the closet, it was again quite clear that that room, too, was deserted. Although it was entirely possible, Rick thought, that his lover, the President of the United States, and the official White House Egyptologist were dead, Rick felt somewhere deep in his gut that Evelyn was alive. He was sure of it. Now it was just a matter of finding her, ripping that damn mummy to pieces, and begging forgiveness of Evelyn for being such an ass. 

"Well, now what?" said Ardeth, strangely at a loss. "Where could they have gone?"

Before anyone could offer any theories, a car came squealing around the corner, skidding to a stop just before ramming into the group. The driver's side window rolled down, revealing the president behind the wheel of the beat-up sedan. "Get in," he said. "We're going to go get that mummy..."

~*~*~*~

I'm trying very hard to wrap this up. If you're reading, tell me, 'k? :)


	12. Mending Our Friendship

LAST CHAPTER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Title is from "With Honors." I feel compelled to point this out because I know no one probably gets my obscure little cultural references. You know, when Moira Kelly is sitting outside during the party and Brendan Fraser comes out and kisses her and she says, "What are you doing?" and he says, "Mending out friendship." Ha ha. Anyway. 

12. Mending Our Friendship

Ivan left Beni at the top of the stairs with the express instructions not to let _anybody_ down. _Anybody_. Of course, Beni being Beni, as soon as Ivan and Evelyn were out of sight, he hightailed to the cafeteria, the pull of hospital Jell-o too much to resist. 

"Rick's going to save me, you know," said Evelyn as they made their way down the creepy darkened stairwell. "He'll probably kill you."

"I very much doubt that, Ms. Carnahan, but thank you for the encouragement."

Evelyn seemed not to have heard him, being lost in her own little world. "It's just that I thought that he loved me."

Ivan sighed. "If I had a nickel for every time I heard that one in cheesy romance novels..."

"You read romance novels?"

He narrowed his eyes, daring her to push the subject further. "Do you have a problem with that?"

"No! Say, you're a guy, maybe you can help me."

Ivan looked around for something to knock Evelyn over the head with, but finding nothing, decided to put up with her incessant questioning for a bit more. "Go ahead, ask me anything."

"Why do guys _do_ this? I mean, I got the impression that maybe there was the possibility of a relationship there. And now all of a sudden he's acting as though I've mentioned marriage. I think he's freaking out. Really, what _is_ it with guys and sex?!?!"

Ivan shrunk back toward the wall, for over the course of her speech Evelyn had become quite emotional about the whole subject and looked as though her eyes would shoot daggers at any man that moved. "Um...I apologize on behalf of my entire gender?"

"Seriously!" she cried. "Is it too much to ask to--"

She didn't get much farther, for as they reached the bottom of the stairs, Ivan finally found a blunt object suitable for knocking someone out, and proceeded to do so without any further ado. 

"They've got a head start," said Rick. "And where the hell do we go?"

Nobody had an answer to this, but Izzy got out of the driver's side and moved around to the trunk. He unlocked it, revealing a terrified Chamberlain huddled inside. "All right, Chamberlain," said the president. "Where would he take her?"

"The--the--the--the hospital," stuttered Chamberlain. "That's where it happened in 1972. And if it's not too much trouble, could you perhaps let me out before we get there? That guy is a psycho--"

Chamberlain's words became muffled as Izzy slammed the trunk and made for the driver's side door again. "Let's go, people."

"Mr. President?" asked Simon. "Perhaps I should drive."

"Get in the car, Donovan." Izzy did a double-take. "Uh....didn't you....you know...die?"

"It's a whole big story," said Rick. "Buffelyn had something to do with it. Everyone in the car!"

The men all piled in the car and (after making sure all seat belts were fastened) sped in the direction of the hospital and Evelyn. 

The woman in question opened her eyes to complete blackness. She soon found that she could not move hardly at all, either. This was partly due to the fact that her hands and feet were bound together, and partly because she was trapped in a morgue drawer. 

She tried to scream, but the sound caught in her throat, and with a whoosh of air the drawer was opened. As the glare from the florescent lights faded to a controllable level, Evelyn wished the blackness would return, so she wouldn't see what she was seeing. 

Ivan stood above her, sacrificial knife raised. She was going to die. 

"Can't you go any faster?" asked Rick, looking impatiently over Izzy's shoulder as the president hastened the car down the freeway.

"I'm going ninety!" cried Izzy. "As it is, I don't think that is an acceptable speed for a president to be driving, so you're just damn lucky that I love Evy like a daughter! So you just accept that ninety miles per hour and use the time to think about what the hell you're going to say to Evelyn after you save her life. And you _will_ save her life, O'Connell, or I swear to God I'll have both Bey and Donovan shoot you!"

"Nice of you, Mr. President," muttered Rick, sinking back into his seat. "Thanks a lot."

"You're just lucky I haven't had you shot already for how you've treated that girl!"

"What is _that_ supposed to mean?" Rick leaned forward again. "I finally find someone who maybe I could really love, the one woman I've ever met who maybe could really love me back, and suddenly everyone thinks I'm acting like a complete asshole! What the hell did I do besides fall in love? Huh? What is so wrong with that?!"

"Ah ha!" cried the president. "You admit it! Now all you have to do is admit it to _her_, and it'll be all good."

"A little help here, Bey?" asked Rick. 

"Well..." said Bey, "you _are _an asshole, O'Connell. I knew that, and yet you are still my friend. Wonders will never cease."

"Wait!!!" screamed Evelyn. "You can't kill me! I have so much to live for!"

Ivan paused. "But I'm a crazed psychopath murderer. What the hell do I care?"

"Can't we at least talk about it? Wait just a few minutes, please."

"And how do I know you aren't just stalling until your lover and his band of bumbling cohorts gets here so they can save the day and send me to the underworld?" 

Without much effort Evelyn managed to begin crying. "I'd really like to have some last words if I'm going to die."

"Damn," growled Ivan. "You've inherited the Carnahan charm. All right, start talking."

Luckily Evelyn did not have to stall for long, because at that very moment the bumbling rescue party burst through the doors of the morgue, yelling and screaming and generally making a ruckus. "Ah, hell," said Ivan, then turned to the group. "All right, which one of you wants to fight to the death while the rest of you try in vain to find a way to banish my soul to the underworld?"

"I think I'll take you up on the first one," said Rick. 

"Bring it!" growled Ivan. 

With that Rick lunged at Ivan, knocking him to the ground and sending the sacrificial knife to a distant corner. While they threw punches at one another, Izzy, Simon, Bey and Jonathan stood around feeling quite helpless. "What should we do?" asked Bey. 

"Duh, duh!" said Jonathan. He held up a large golden book for the other's inspection. "We use this."

"Where did you get that?"

"Hospital gift shop," replied Jonathan. "But there is one teensy weensy problem."

"What's that?"

"Does anyone here read ancient Egyptian?"

The men looked at each other blankly, none of them having a speck of Egyptian linguistic knowledge between them. "Um, I took French," said Donovan. "Does that help?"

"Step aside, boys," said a new voice. A petite woman with reddish-brown curly hair stepped between them and took the book from Jonathan. "I happen to be an expert in this sort of thing."

"Deana!" cried Ardeth. "My wife, the love of my life, what are you doing here, of all places?"

"I'm saving your guys' butts, apparently. Honestly, men..." *Deana sneaks a peek at Ardeth's butt.* "Damn."

"There's plenty of time for that later!" said Izzy. "Just read from the damn book!"

"Don't rush me, Mr. President," said Deana. 

"Baby," said Ardeth, "you know these movies by heart. Say the lines!"

"Okay, okay." Deana fixed her gaze on Ivan, quite busy strangling Rick across the room. "Kadeesh mal, kadeesh mal! Pared Oos, pared oos!!!"

Ivan's eyes widened and he dropped Rick just before a giant blue chariot burst through the wall of the morgue and sucked Ivan's immortal soul from his body. He staggered around for a bit, then turned to the group by the stairs. "Uh, hello," he said weakly. "It seems I am now mortal. Does anyone have any Pepto-Bismol?"

"Ivan!" screeched another woman descending from the stairs. She had long, flowing black hair and bronze skin, and was wearing retro '70s fashions. "Thank heavens you're all right! Did they hurt you?"

Ivan's eye opened even wider, if that was possible, and he looked so pitiful everyone just about cried for him. "Annie?" he said. "But....they killed you."

"No, no, no!" cried the woman. "That was my twin sister, Meela! My name is Maali, the true reincarnation of your lover Anastasia. I was, like, hoping we could go out some time. Now that you're mortal and, you know, no longer psychotically evil."

"Of course!" beamed Ivan. "Are you free now?"

Maali took Ivan's arm and the two of them made their way past Rick, still on the floor, Evelyn, still tied up on the table, and the rest of the group, completely and utterly at a loss as to what they should be doing to stop this madness. The couple ascended the stairs and after their departure a period of silence followed, in which no one knew quite what to say. 

"Um, people?" said Evelyn, breaking the quiet. "Could someone untie me?"

O'Connell leapt to his feet and began untying her. "Anyone have a knife? Ardeth, can I borrow-- hey!"

Ardeth and Deana, who had been making out, leapt apart guiltily. "What?" said Ardeth.

"Never mind."

"All right." Ardeth turned to his wife. "Ready to go, honey?"

"Yep." Deana and Ardeth followed the mummy and his girl up the stairs and out of sight. 

"I should get going, too," said Simon. "C.J.'s waiting, you know, and we, too, are insanely happy in alternate universe bliss, as you already know. Bye, guys!" Simon exited, too. 

"I'm going to leave before you two get all mushy," Jonathan mumbled. "Care to join me, Mr. President?"

"Yes, Jonathan. And I have a very special place for us to go."

"Really? Where's that?"

"It's a magical land called rehab. You'll love it. Come on, let's get out of here."

Izzy and Jonathan also made their exit, leaving only Rick and a half untied Evelyn. "Well," she said. "I guess I should start with thank you."

Rick was about to reply but was interrupted by the appearance of a third presence. The man was tall and black and wore a tall red turban and a scowl. "Mr. O'Connell," he snarled. "How wonderful to see you again."

"Mr. Lock!" cried Rick. "What the hell..."

"I am here to inform you," said Mr. Lock, "that my employer has terminated (heh, heh) the contract on your head because of your regained status with the secret service. I will no longer be trying to kill you. Just thought you'd like to know."

"You mean it was me that was getting shot at?!" asked Rick. "And I thought I was being all brave and saving Evelyn's life."

"Well, probably." Mr. Lock shrugged sheepishly. "I'm a very bad shot. Anyway, have a nice life." He then turned, and with a dramatic flourish of his cape, was gone. 

Without a word, Rick began untying Evelyn's bindings again, but she felt the need to be slightly more talkative. "What does he mean, 'regained status with the secret service?'"

"Oh." Rick threw the last rope away. "Bey offered me my job back. It's no big deal."

"Of course it is. Are you happy?"

"I'm good at it." Rick shrugged. "Even if I did get the president shot in the ass. It was just that one time." He helped Evelyn down from the table, and found that once again, she'd ended up in his arms. It felt right. "Evelyn, I--"

"No." She shushed him with a finger to his lips. "Don't say it. I couldn't bear to have my heart broken."

"Evelyn, I love you."

She looked slightly shocked. "Oh. I didn't expect that. Are you sure you're not just...caught up in the moment?"

Rick looked around at the particular moment and made a decision. "I'm pretty sure not. We're standing in the middle of a morgue, I'm half beat-to-death, and the hospital is going to have our heads for all this damage we've caused. Not a real romantic moment."

"Yes, it is." She leaned forward and nuzzled his nose, reveling in the simple closeness. "It's perfect. I love you."

His heart feeling strangely at ease, Rick kissed her then, deciding that it didn't matter what moment it was--whether standing in a kitchen, the Oval Office, or the morgue--with her, every moment was perfect. "I love you, Evy," he said again, between kisses. "For all eternity."

EPILOGUE

...whatever happens to...

RICK asked EVELYN to marry him soon after the start of their passionate romance. She happily accepted and moved to D.C. to be with him and attend graduate school. They've set a date and are sure to have many supernatural-related adventures in the future.

JONATHAN did indeed go to rehab, from which he emerged completely clean and cuter than ever. He is currently dating Buffelyn. 

IZZY hopes to be elected to a second term.

ARDETH and DEANA are living happily ever after in the suburbs with a million kids. 

SIMON and C.J: Ditto. 

CHAMBERLAIN was eventually rescued from the trunk of the car and spent a chunk of time in a mental hospital. 

IVAN and MAALI are still together and frequently invite Rick and Evelyn over for dinner parties. The authorities have not prosecuted the couple for crimes committed in 1972 due to a lack of evidence proving reincarnation. 

Ha ha ha ha!!!!!!!! I'm DONE!!!!! I was really really sick of this story, so I'm very much relieved. Hope y'all enjoyed it, and thank you to everyone who read and/or reviewed!!! :):):) ~Buffelyn


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